


The Fool

by Miss_Vile



Series: Nygmobblepot One Shots [23]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, POV First Person, Post-Episode: s05e11 They Did What?, Requited Unrequited Love, Season/Series 05, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26605387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Vile/pseuds/Miss_Vile
Summary: The mansion should catch fire quickly, I made sure of that. These dusty old halls and antiques will serve as tinder for our makeshift tomb. It’s not like anyone has any use for the old home so it might as well make itself useful.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Series: Nygmobblepot One Shots [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1396144
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	The Fool

**Author's Note:**

> whosthatpokaimon and I challenged one another to an angst off. So you can blame us both for this.
> 
> You can read their story [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26594224)
> 
>  _A bed, a vent, a nook. What am I?_  
> ...a Fireplace.

I light a match as gasoline soaks the wooden floors. Phosphorus and butane swirl together into a sickeningly sweet mixture— almost as nauseating as the cocktail of opiates I just swallowed.

The mansion should catch fire quickly, I made sure of that. These dusty old halls and antiques will serve as tinder for our makeshift tomb. It’s not like anyone has any use for the old home so it might as well make itself useful.

I considered burning it down years ago after I came home from the pier that day, but I realized on the drive back that I wasn’t ready to let go— not like I am now. The rain had turned to sleet and clung to my eyelashes. The water soaked the hem of my pants and the bitter cold of the early winter chilled me to the marrow. Barbara Keen called me to confirm that you were dead, but I was too focused on ridding myself of the ice and the searing pain in my chest to bother answering the newest monarch. The next several weeks were filled with interviews and police reports, endless paperwork and lateral filing, and the occasional drug-induced hallucination.

Finding you alive in that cage was the happiest I’d felt in months. Losing you left a cavernous void that, no matter how much I tried to fill it with money and treasures, it never seemed to satiate that darkness. I lost my mind then, that’s clear to me now in retrospect. I was desperately clinging to the life I had thrown away and I was both unable and unwilling to part with it. Even after I’d found my moniker and was building my own identity separate from yours— The Penguin, the man I secretly hoped I would spend my life with.

The match falls to the floor as I hear the kettle whistle in the kitchen. The hungry flames climb up the tapestries and the curtains billow wildly. I wrap the gold brocade around me and breathe in the ghost of your cologne— Juniper, black pepper, and amber. You ran out of the bottle you wore when you visited me in Arkham. I had intended on replacing it, but time always seemed to run away with us. This bottle had been a gift from Sofia but, truthfully, I liked it better. It lingered on my tongue and in my clothes and kept me company at night. I’m thankful you wore it so often.

“A precious name, a comb of gold, a healing salve. What am I?” I ask aloud and frown when there is no voice to answer back. With a huff and a sad grin, I reply, “Honey.”

I pull the jar from the cabinet and cough as the pantry is engulfed in dark plumes of smoke. The fire seems to have spread upstairs, just as predicted. Our beds and linens are likely an inferno by now and will soon come crashing through the ceiling, so I should speed things up.

I place the tea and honey onto the tray and carry it into the parlor. You’re still sitting on the sofa and, if I pretend for just a moment longer, you look like you’re breathing.

There is a  _ ‘crack’ _ and a  _ ‘pop’ _ as the wall nearby buckles. There is a rush of air as the foundation shifts and the fire spreads to the books on the shelves. It’s a shame I never got to read them all.

I sip the tea and smile at the warmth. Ginger tea with honey had become a guilty pleasure of mine after that night. Up until our renewed partnership as I built the submarine, I hadn’t ever acknowledged why. I was a fool, just like you said. In the end, you were always right.

When that madman and his doll tackled you to the ground, I knew. You destroyed the object of his obsessions— freeing him of his delusion— but I couldn’t stand the brightness of his voice or even that twinkle in your eye. I needed to destroy him. I needed his blood coating the walls and I needed you to see me. To look at me… and you did.

_ “Perhaps, Edward, we really are meant for each other,”  _ you’d said. I wanted to tell you then, but we were both so high on carnage and thankful to be alive that we couldn’t stifle our laughter. I vowed to tell you later. I left hints, but I’m not sure you noticed them. Or, if you did, you assumed it was some trick or that you were gleaning meaning when there was none. Or perhaps you didn’t love me anymore. That’s always a possibility, but it’s not one I care to dwell on. Not now, anyway. Not when we’re both too late.

You look like you’re sleeping. It reminds me of when you were at my apartment after we first met. You picked up on my bad habit of drinking coffee late into the evening but, where I would be able to wake a few hours later, you would sleep in until the mid-afternoon. The quiet hum of your snoring and the warmth in my bed was like a balm for my heart.

Carelessly, I run my hand across your face and wince as a sharp piece of shrapnel cuts into my palm. Your skin is so cold now. When I said that we needed to get your fever down, this wasn’t what I meant! I think those are tears rolling down my face, but I can’t tell. I’m so tired now. The edges of my vision are blurry and the ringing in my ears is disorienting.

The white china falls to the floor and shatters. I’m not fast enough to catch it or keep the tea from spilling across my lap, not like it matters. I sigh and instead wrap my arms around you. Your head lulls to the side, just like it did this morning when I found you. The room is unbearably hot now and I can no longer keep my eyes open.

“Goodnight, Oswald,” I say as my eyes finally close and I drift on to sleep beside you.

**Author's Note:**

> I owe y'all fluff next.


End file.
